


Luna

by Parizaad (orphan_account)



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hospitals, M/M, Post-Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Parizaad
Summary: For now, the moonlight is enough.





	

Seconds, minutes, hours, days even. They passed by, placidly as water in a peat quagmire and L never looked out once. Knees drawn to his chest in his standard fashion, sugar between his lips and hands hovering over his laptop. L, supposed, he didn’t used to bother this before. _Before._ Of course, it’s easier to forget that way. He looks away and the windows are close-lipped, dark curtains falling around them. There’s a lamp lit on his side table. L needs to bite on his thumb hard to remind himself he prefers it this way. 

Watari is there, he is always is. 

“Light wishes to see you.”

Six months, continuously, every night. And L pays more attention to his laptop. There’s always more cake waiting near the lamp, a sheen in the cream frosting. Sometimes he calls Robert. Near is fine, he has a new puzzle. Mello is agitated, he claims he hates children, but he lets a new little girl braid flowers in his hair after she beats him at chess ( _twice,_ Robert had added, she is precocious like every other child at Wammys). Matt kissed Mello again, he has a black-eye and chipped goggles. L has a family back at Wammys, he’ll be back as soon as Watari manages the formalities.

Ironically enough, he never leaves this room. This room. With their faint scent and fists connecting and pleasured sighs. That’s okay, L is never bothered by it. His cell phone vibrates too, sometimes it’s Aizawa, sometimes Matsuda. He sees no reason to answer. No reason to not answer either, so he humors himself and listens to Matsuda’s loud, flamboyant concern. Only him. He’s straightforward at least.

L is still the best detective in the world (the second and the third too) and solving the Kira case has amplified the shouts of his masked glory. They say that the Kira case was the hardest case to solve for even L, and they’re right. 

Reasons vary for L, quite by a margin, but secrets remain in this city and these rooms so that’s that.

.

“Tonight’s a full moon.” Watari is removing the plates and his eyes are crinkling, he is speaking English. Familiar and smelling of crisp papers and melted frost at Wammys. L looks up. “A peculiar one at that. It’s been a millennium since the moon has come this close to the Earth.”

“I see.” 

Watari smiles, shuffling out of the room. “Yes. Many will be watching it today.”

L looks down at that. The ghostly light of his laptop looks blue and fraying at the edges. Watari brings his message, like he does every day, and he did today too. There’s more cake at his table. L’s teapot is full again. A new cup. L looks up at the ceiling, biting his thumb, estimating that there is the probability of night…right about now. So he pushes the untouched coconut cake slice away, turns his bone-dry teacup over.

He almost tears the dusty curtains apart, almost smears his hand on the skeins of glass mist. No use anyway. L had the windows frosted a week before. He lifts a corner anyway, and the window is as dark as the dark of his eyes. He drops the curtain. L could always go back to work. Or.

It’s been months, leaving their room, but L still remembers the corridors and the stairs. The stairs are cold, a polished blue. He climbs slowly. L remembers chains clinging against the railing and animated protests, _why not the elevators Ryuzaki!_ So yes, he prefers this. The night is long, very long rather, after all.

His bare feet are stark, pallid against the tiles. _You should eat something more than just sugar, Ryuzaki, look how pale you are._ L looks up, he’s at the roof.

There’s the chill in the air on his skin that makes him draw his breath. There’s the familiar brush of his heel. The sea of blinking, looping lights and metal and glass that is Tokyo. There’s the moon too, that Watari talked about. It hangs low in the sky, white as a skull. Portentously large. There’s nothing beautiful about it, but the halo, yellowing and golden flakes softens it.

The notebooks. When they had been burned, there was a familiar halo. Orange and blazing, it softened the fire ever so. More too. A page found in the sewn compartment of a worn-leather wallet, a slip of a torn paper inside a smart watch. 

He’s wrong. There is a certain beauty to the gaunt moon, massive and glaring. L tilts his head. 

Something strangely ugly in its essence, yet...beautiful all the same. There are not many things as such, and L considers himself a morbid case of a romantic, so he remembers. Brown, unabashed eyes pleading at him through a screen. Damp auburn hair curling slightly under L’s curious fingers. Raw bitten nails under such perfection. Scathing scolds with calculating undertones and something else, something entirely else only for L.

There’s a knot of a tightening in his chest.

“Light-kun.” 

It’s the first time L let’s out his name in a year. It’s almost inaudible. Secret, lie. His mouth finds his thumb again and L stares, unblinking, at the moon. Light is on the other side. Watari carried out Light’s message after all. 

The knot loosens, it clatters, falls apart.

.

“Watari.”

Watari turns around, putting his book face down. His glasses pushed down to the crook of his nose, eyes bleary, heavy with exhaustion. The surprise in his voice only hints of him being alarmed at L leaving the room after such a long length of time. The plain, white clock in Watari’s room shows it is seven-thirty sharp. Watari has been reading. His hair are not the immaculate combed of careful hands right now. L shifts on his feet. 

“L, are you alright? What is is?” He talks in English, so L replies in it, curt and almost furious with himself for finally giving in.

"If you are not bothered, take me to Light.”

Watari nods slowly, L finds it amusing how the tension around his eyes dissipate into the folds of his skin, like he was hoping for this revelation all along. And fifty six percent, L would wager, he most certainly was.

“Of course L. Of course I can take you to Light. “

Watari nods again, and is smiling a lone sort of smile, the kind he sees less and less, the last time maybe when L was a wobbly child sitting at the orphanage's plush sofa looking out of the window, with him, pressing a cookie into his small hands. Mr.Wammy, Watari, a solid Gothic letter matching his 'W' , the same sad smile, not entirely there. So instead L just trains his eyes on the ceiling, gliding his teeth against his thumb, thinking anything but how the very notion of seeing _him_ makes his mind, a noisy clatter. Screeching and halting at too many thoughts at once. The remnants of a dream.

.

Watari has a hushed conversation with the nurse, and L does not mind standing at a side. 

The white walls glare. L shuffles in his shoes uncomfortably. He hates shoes. He hates hospitals. The taste of a thousand questions makes him purse his lips together, a strange feeling eating away at him. Light has waited him for far too long. Far too long.

“Go on, L. You have permission for the night.” Watari is speaking and the nurse nods.

L doesn’t wait further and pushes in, closing the door behind him just as quickly. The first thing he thinks is : _The room smells like Light._

Bitter almonds, his aftershave and something clean and indistinguishable. There’s a folded futon, a chair, and a lot of paper. Pens and university books. A cardboard box. That’s all. 

_“L?”_

L looks up, following his voice, the balcony doors are open, almost translucent curtains whipping with the autumn wind of winter. And there he is. L tries to swallow. He tries to breathe evenly, to clam the uncomfortable slamming of his heart. Wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Light.”

L manages this whisper and it hurts looking at him. Not because of the dark circles under his eyes, and the painful sharp jutting of his hollowed cheeks, but that Light is ever as beautiful as he was. Still as skittish and side-stepping too, maybe. _Light isn't a romantic_ and L hates himself for thinking about such blatantly outrageous notions.

Light is running then and he is slamming into L, his bony arms closing around L. Tight, unforgiving. L stands still for a second until he presses into him, trying not to inhale the strange musk of skin under the sharp medicine and pique cotton shirt. 

“You-you-“ Light is crying, L can feel it in the wetness at the side of his neck and the quake in Light’s chest. “You asshole! You never came and I-I-“

“Light-kun has not changed.” L smiles slightly (yet he _has_ changed, and so has L but that's that. The Light he knew would never cry, quaking in his arms like this. There are many different Lights, but L just breathes this one in slightly easier. ) Light is pressing into him, like he never wants to part and L ignores the ache in his chest. a morbid irony his brain supplies helplessly and steps away.

“L-“ Light’s eyes are wide, afraid, wild. Was he like this when his mother hanged herself with a yellow scarf? Was he like this when his sister cried until she had no tears left? “Don’t leave please, don’t-“

“I will not leave, Light-kun. Not again.” L speaks slowly. Light is so vulnerable now, as if with the slightest of L’s touch he will burn to ash and nothing, as if he will break into shards with a mere kiss. L is cautious still, his fingers shake. He wills himself to close this distance and kisses Light’s tears, away, gently.

“Don’t…cry.” L is shaking as his breath skitters across Light’s cheek. Then all of a sudden, “You saw the moon, L?” It is Light, teetering, careful as his eyes travel to his lips and back up.

“I did.” L’s fingers press into the nape of Light’s hair, as soft as ever. “I did, Light-kun.”

Light smiles as eerie as ever, slips his hand in L’s and takes him to his room’s balcony. “Come.”

The moon is no different than that of which he saw on the HQ roof. It is the same, large and white and ugly as it is beautiful. They stand like that for a moment, in the midst of a restless breeze and uneasy hearts and a glaring moon.

“Why did you never come to me, L?” 

Light speaks, loud and clear, nothing of the previous shaking boy he had witnessed. _There are many Lights._ L holds onto Light’s hand, like a lifeline, speaking as Light look at him expectantly. L doesn’t answer and answers all at the same time, Light will know.

“You are a thief, Light Yagami.”

Light frowns. Then his brow relaxes at the weight of L’s words. It is a confession.

“As are you.”

L raises their intertwined hands, pale in the bathe of moonlight. Kisses Light’s knuckles gently.

For now, L allows Light to reach up and kiss him, to press him against the rail. He allows himself and his body to speak the truth. And it is okay, if these little seconds, minutes, hours hurt him every time they touch because L never won at all, he was always bound to Light. 

For now, the moonlight is enough.  
.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback/psychotherapy for this warbled sleep deprived soul typing this in the middle of the night and low-key crying over the OCC-ness.
> 
> EDIT : i hate this
> 
>  


End file.
